Sir Walter Scott

Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band
That knits me to read more

Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band
That knits me to thy rugged strand!

A foot more light, a step more true,
Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew.

A foot more light, a step more true,
Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew.

You whirled them to the back of beyont.

You whirled them to the back of beyont.

The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;
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The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;
The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew,
And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.

He may as well not thank at all, who thanks when none are by.

He may as well not thank at all, who thanks when none are by.